


Sweet As Cake

by Riddleisourking



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 18:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riddleisourking/pseuds/Riddleisourking
Summary: “There was another bombing.”Everyone in the camp fell silent and his heart dropped in his chest. Where did the Allies hit this time? Tokyo? Shinjuku-ku? Osaka? There were too many prime targets.“It was in Nagasaki.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I kind of mixed The Nanjing Massacre with Manchuria 
> 
> Warning for if you look up the massacre: It's the most horrible thing that I've ever read about or seen, aside from the holocaust
> 
> Shit is massively fucked up and y i k e s
> 
> Yuuri is about 17 at the start of this

_ Japanese-Occupied Manchuria, Northeastern China _

_ August 8th, 1945 _

  
  


The news about the bombing of Hiroshima came by way of a messenger, a little boy that couldn't be more than fourteen but who still wore the ugly army green uniform, red stripe on his hat and menial badges next to his breast pocket. The boy's left arm sleeve hung loosely and blew in the wind, pronouncing his state as an amputee. War makes children into men rather quickly.

The boy drew up, shoulders squared away and eyes hard as he spoke to the general of the Manchuria unit.

“The Allies deployed an atomic bomb early this morning and it landed in Hiroshima. The war council has decided to continue with the war.” The boy spoke, one hand- his only hand- held behind his back in a show of obedience and respect.

Katsuki Yuuri stood off to the side, sweat beading his forehead and his hands were stained with blood. He was a medic in this unit and one of a hundred and fifty others in charge of keeping the soldiers’ injuries to a minimum. Lately, he had been taking care of the Manchurian women aside from his unit.

Especially because of the unspeakable things that his unit was forcing on the women and children. He wished that he could help them more than he currently was, but the crowds were too big and guns too imposing. He could only suture the women up after the men were done.

“A bomb?” He wondered aloud.

The general pressed his lips together and nodded, “I see. And what about the men and weapons that we asked for?”

“The emperor cannot concede in giving you any. The Germans are on the Eastern front and the Soviets shouldn't be joining the attack until next year.” The boy answered.

“That'll be all. See Shou Shinji for a place to rest and then tomorrow you can return.”

Yuuri cleansed his hands of the drying blood and his eyes narrowed. The spring water turned a murky color as he scrubbed but all he could think about was the bomb on Hiroshima. They should've surrendered. The Allies were clearly not afraid to decimate the entire Japanese population. So, then why? Why weren't they?

* * *

 

 

_ Japanese-Occupied Manchuria, Northeastern China _

_ August 15th, 1945 _

 

Yuuri ate breakfast with his fellow soldiers, he checked them over for typhus in the early afternoon, and by nightfall, he was laughing with them over some story that one told. It was about a lady that he had left behind in Osaka. The lady was apparently the love of his life, the soldier only realized it after the lady tripped and fell in a trash can in front of him. It was cute.

“There was another bombing.”

Everyone in the camp fell silent and his heart dropped in his chest. Where did the Allies hit this time? Tokyo? Shinjuku-ku? Osaka? There were too many prime targets.

“It was in Nagasaki.” 

His dinner came up moments later. Nagasaki is only a few hours from his hometown. His mother, father, sister, and best friend still live there. They live there and- He got sick again.

The tears wouldn't stop coming and fellow soldiers with families near Nagasaki joined in his crying. He didn't care about them; he cared about his family.  
  


* * *

 

 

_ Japanese-Occupied Manchuria, Northeastern China _

_ August 13th, 1945 _

 

The Soviets arrived.

The spot where he had laughed and told stories of Hasetsu with his comrades was scorched with blood, bodies, and bullet casings. Screams alerted him to his injured comrades and he moved, tying tourniquets with all the dexterity that he had been taught to in training. If anyone had ever told him what a landmine injury looked like, he would've shook his head and said, “There's no way something so small could do that much damage”.

He stepped over scattered limbs, eyes searching the ground hurriedly for additional mines and he finally stopped next to a fallen comrade.

He knew the man, of course he did. He was the one who usually cooked dinner for them all. The man had always been smiling and now... Now, his leg was missing and a chunk of his uniform was too. Veins, arteries, muscle, and bone stuck out and he dropped to his knees, gathering the mass of the leg that he had left.

“Kill me.”

He lifted his head only slightly, letting the soldier know that he had heard him, but that he was choosing to ignore him. There wasn't much that he could do with this kind of injury. He didn't have the medicines required to sterilize the wound or anything to halt the bleeding. As it was, arterial spray flowed over his hands and pants as he held the limb.

There was nothing that he could do-

“Kill me.”

He finally lifted his head up and met the desperate eyes of the soldier. The soldier knew that he couldn't be saved. He knew and yet-

A dog barked and he swiveled in his seat as the man died in his arms. He could make out the form of the dog, it had brown curly fur. Some kind of poodle.

He stood up, wiping his bloodied hands off and grabbed his kit, following after the dog as it led him away from the battle scene and further into the forest. In hindsight, he shouldn't have followed the dog. It could be an enemy’s and this could be a trap.

But he followed the dog all the same until they came across a cave. It wasn't anything special, just a long cave with long caverns. They didn't stop walking until the very end and Yuuri took his blood soaked boots off, placing them to the side as his eyes fixed on an injured man's body. From the uniform alone, he could tell that the man was in the Allied Forces.

Even so, he sat in front of him and undressed him. There. A bullet wound in his side.

He pulled the alpha onto his shoulder and lifted his shirt up in the back. Another hole. He wouldn't have to go digging through his body for the bullet then. Hopefully the bullet didn't splinter.

He set his kit on the ground and it popped open with a soft ‘click’. Inside were three syringes filled with antiseptic, bandages, clips, water, food, and scalpels and forceps. He took the water and cleaned the area around the wounds, it was important for them to be clean, lest infection take over. The wounds themselves didn't actually seem that dirty at all, luckily.

Even so, he pressed the head of a needle in the soldier's arm. The last thing he needed was for the soldier to die on him. Then he wrapped the bandages solidly around his waist and clipped them.

He didn't bother seeing if the soldier had anything worthwhile to say, he just disposed of the needle and moved onto the dog.

The dog had one eye shut and a few superficial wounds. The eye was the most worrying and after prying it open, he pressed his lips together. The eye was gone. Well, gone in the sense that he couldn't save it. Whether it was from disease or infection, the dog's eye had grown cloudy. 

He ran his fingers through the matted fur around it's head and hummed a song from his childhood quietly. There were no other injuries that he could feel out. The mystery of the dog's eye was alluding him.

“She's been blind in that eye since birth.” 

Yuuri lifted his head and turned to the alpha, “Since birth?” He asked in broken German.

“Since birth.” The alpha replied roughly. “Did you poison me?”

“P-Poison? No! I sterilized your gunshot wound.” He narrowed his eyes on him and went back to facing the dog before him. “What's her name?”

“Makkachin.” 

“Ah.” He gently pried bits of matts out of her fur and hummed. “Is she a bomb sniffer or?”

“No, just my dog.” 

“I see, I'm surprised they let you take her into battle with you.” He hummed.

Makkachin blinked up at him and licked his face suddenly, making him laugh as he moved away from her.

“She reminds me of the dog that I used to have back in Hasetsu.” He admitted.

“Wasn't that one of the places bombed?”

Yuuri stiffened, his gaze fixed on the ground. This Soviet had no tact at all, it seemed.

“Near enough that the bomb would have affected it.” He replied clippedly. “I should get going before they name me dead or a deserter.”

“My unit saw what you did to those people. How could you?” 

“ _ I  _ didn't, most of my unit did.” He stood up and crossed his arms as he faced the alpha again.

His face was filled with anger and remorse, all for the people of Manchuria, “So, you stood by and let them? That's no better than what they did.”

The alpha was right. Of course, he was right and regret ebbed away at him.

“There were too many in my unit and only one of me. They could've killed me or given me the Manchurian treatment. I helped the men, women, and children. I made their suffering lessened and- It still wasn't enough.” He admitted. “It will never be enough for them and the pain they went through.”

“No, no it won't be.” The man agreed.

“I should get going then.” He gestured to the exit of the cave. “Bye, uh?”

“Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Katsuki Yuuri.” He ran his hand through his hair and backpedalled from the cave. That had been an experience and now it was time to move on.

 

* * *

 

_ Detroit, Michigan,  _

_ United States _

_ November 29th, 1953 _

  
  


The Manchuria murders were buried by the Japanese government. They were covered up as if they never happened and talking about it, the bombs, or the war were taboo. World War II was filled with nothing but atrocities.

Even now, eight years later, he was in therapy for the things the men in his unit did and for the war in general. Whenever he got to thinking about it, he trembled and had vivid flashbacks. Flashbacks that left him handicapped at most times, unable to move or talk. That was about the extent that his PTSD had come to.

He pushed around at the cake that he bought himself earlier that day. It's his 25th birthday, yet he was not any happier for it. Lately, all he had been thinking about was the Soviet named Viktor.

Had he and Makkachin made it through the war? The war had ended after the Russian  defeat of Japanese-occupied Manchuria. So, they should have. 

If so, where were they now? Were they still in Russia? Still part of the Soviet army? The answer eludes him as it does any day that he spends thinking about them.

Nowadays, the most normalcy that he got was in the form of having his neighbor asking him when he would get a nice Japanese alpha to marry. Emphasis on Japanese.

The Americans, like anywhere else, did not like racially mixed couples at all. To them, Whites belonged with whites; blacks belonged with blacks; Asians belonged with Asians. It's disgusting. What makes it worse are the ones who discriminate against the black, Hispanic, and Asian race as a whole. 

He had to keep his part in the war on the down low. If he could pass as Japanese American, it certainly made his everyday life easier. The veterans of the war here still had hard feelings for the Japanese and their part in it.

He pushes his plate of cake away. It certainly didn't feel like a day of celebration and there was no use in pretending otherwise. Not when it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Besides, his family were all dead and he had no friends. Who would there be to possibly goad him into celebrating today anyways? Aside from his neighbor that is.

She was a nice lady, you know, when she wasn't being a racist bigot.

“Yurtree!” Her voice carries through the frail wooden door of his apartment.

He stood and went to it, opening it, “Miss Cavendish? What is it?” He asked, not in the least bit miffed by her mispronunciation. He was used to it by now.

“A man is here to see you. He's not Asian, I think he said he was Russian?” Her blue eyes had widened expressively. 

He stilled.

“Russian?” He repeated faintly.

Then his door was being forced wide open and a man with hair as white as snow was there. His blue eyes were dulled and yet twinkled all the same.

“Yuuri, nice to see you again.” Viktor says.

“Oh.” He manages.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have to consider inflation while reading about how much Yuuri was paid, so 62 USD back then would have been about 900 USD, give or take, in today's money
> 
> This is also assuming that the paymaster didn't give Yuuri his money at intervals and instead gave it all to him in 1945
> 
> Either way, since he was already there, he definitely could've given them some money

“So, did you hear about the cover-up?” Viktor asks conversationally.

They had migrated to his shoddy dining room table, the cake sitting discarded in the middle with a distinct lack of celebration attending to it. It certainly felt awful to even think about eating it when talking about Manchuria. All of those men, women, and children…

He stiffened in his seat. Flashbacks of women being pulled from the sanctity of their homes, forced in front of their families to degrading acts and then mutilated afterwards. God. 

“Remembering then, Yuuri?” The Russian digs at him, his voice just as judging as the Americans when they saw him out and about. He deserved it.

“They- The city and families of the victims are demanding restitution and acknowledgement. They deserve every single penny that the Japanese army can give them.” He speaks finally, his voice sounding weak to even his own ears. Why was he acting this way? He shouldn't be close to tears when he did nothing to stop the rape and slaughter of innocents. 

Viktor hummed, tapping his fingers to an invisible beat for a time, “Is it your birthday, Yuuri?”

“Yes.” His voice came out below a whisper and he lifted his head, meeting strong blue eyes that were fixed on his own. Surprisingly, there was no judgement in them. Just… concern?

The Soviet pushed the plate of cake back over to him and cut himself a slice, grabbing his own fork after a quick perusal of the drawers. “Everyone is talking about the Nip who sends every cent of his paycheck to the families of Manchuria. I'm surprised that you didn't just give them the money your government paid you.” 

“It was the first thing that I did when I was paid. I was paid 6,912 yen, that's roughly 62 dollars into American money. I've never actually seen that much money before.” He admitted humorlessly. “What did you do with yours?”

“Ah, it all went to Manchuria as well. I wish I could do more for them than that but that's all I could do.” He paused, his eyes thinning to slits. “Yuuri, how are the Americans treating you?”

The voice he used was almost deathly cold and it sent shivers down his spine. It was the voice of an alpha looking out for his omega. That was neither here nor there; he didn't belong to Viktor.

“I'm fine if they just assume I'm Japanese-American; most of the Japanese-Americans in Hawaii fought in a division for the Americans. Thanks to that, I have some leeway. Other times, I'm called a turncoat or a slant. I guess it's because of my eyes?” He made a face and took a bite of his cake. Flavor exploded over his tongue and he tucked into the pastry.

“They what?” His voice was thunderous and the Soviet stood, trembling in his anger. It even had him pausing with cake halfway to his mouth.

“Viktor, it's fine, I can deal with it. They lost a lot of people when my country bombed Pearl Harbor.” He argued, setting his fork down. The alpha was honestly overreacting, he had dealt with this for years and it didn't hurt anymore.

“They set two bombs back on Japan, Yuuri. Your family was killed.” Viktor rages on.

He stiffened at the reminder. It had been a year since he had last visited their graves,but not a day went by that he didn't pay his regards to the butsudan that stood in the guest room of his apartment.

“I- They never recovered their bodies.” He starts suddenly before he can stop himself. “After the war, I only was able to gather a few pictures for the butsudan. They never received their matsugo no mizu.” At Viktor’s confused expression, he relented. “In my culture, we have a tradition as the Americans have their viewing and burial rites. We close our shrine and put water on the lips of our deceased. The water is their matsugo no mizu.”

“Matsugo no mizu.” Viktor reverberates, nodding his head in understanding. “We have our traditions that differ from the Americans as well. In some families, they lay their deceased in their home for three days before burial and we dress them in white unfinished clothing.”

Yuuri shifts uneasily as he finished off his cake, gathering his plate and fork to the sink.

“Yuuri, you shouldn't let them treat you like that.” 

He sighed, turning to face Viktor frustratedly, “Have you seen how they treat the blacks? There's a hate group that actually routinely kills them. I'm not letting them do anything, I survived the war and I'm not going to get myself killed just because I'm called a fish head or a slant.” He didn't realize how loud he was yelling until he finished and embarrassment rose on his face, coloring in his cheeks.

“You're scared they'll kill you?” He asks considering, a frown pulling at his face in all the wrong ways. Yuuri wanted to wipe it off; Viktor shouldn't ever frown, he was made for smiling. “You don't have an alpha to protect you yet? You're twenty-five, Yuuri.”

This again. He’s tired of everyone prying into his love life like it was any part of their business. News flash, it isn't.

“I don't need an alpha for protection, I've done just fine on my own. And you're twenty-eight, I don't see your omega anywhere around.” He remarks bitterly.

“Look in a mirror, then you'll see him.” Viktor bites back.

It takes him a minute to understand and when he does, he rears back and points at Viktor accusingly. They last saw each other eight years ago and the man has the gall to try to claim him? What was with that?

“No. No, no, no, and oh, no. We're not- you're not- I'm not your omega. You don't even know me and I don't even know you. The most I know is that you served in the Soviet army and you have a dog.” He shook his head, backing away as Viktor took steps toward him. They kept this up until Yuuri made contact with a counter and Viktor towered over him. 

“Yuuri.” He cooed.

He lifted his head up in defiance, glaring at him, “No.”

The Soviet tilted his head and backed away some, “You don't even want to consider having me to protect you, guide you?”

“You speak as if you're signing up to mentor me and in no reality would that ever happen. This isn't a mentorship, Viktor.” 

“No? Well, if you change your mind, Yuuri, I moved in right next door to you.”

Oh, fuck.

“What?” He asked.

Viktor is backing away and heading towards the door without any explanation. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he sank to his knees.

“What?” He repeated more to himself as his front door opened and shut.

Viktor Nikiforov had moved in next door?

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov had moved in next door. Along with him came Makkachin, who he had accosted at the first chance. She was a really cute dog and he gave her tummy rubs and homemade dog treats. Such a cutie.

Of course, after Viktor had realized her disappearance after he lugged all of his things in, he came into Yuuri’s apartment once more.

He gave him a leveled look and kissed Makka’s snout gingerly, “Recompense for barging into my life with the expectancy of becoming my alpha.” He explained.

“Recompense? You're stealing my dog?” If he took pleasure in the way Viktor’s voice rose in shock, he didn't let on. He just smiled.

“Think of it more as… Shared custody.” He offers.

“I'm not sharing custody over her.” Viktor argued, stepping towards them but not ultimately knowing what to do.

Yuuri snorted, “You'll try to claim me as your omega but you won't let me play with your dog?” He clicks his tongue and fixed Makka with a sad look. “Your papa is so mean.”

Makka gave him a look of understanding, or she was just trying to butter him up to get more food out of him. What a dork.

“I didn't say you couldn't play with her, you just can't steal her!” Now, the alpha joined them on the floor where he carded his fingers through Makka’s fur. He was happy to report that she no longer had any matts in it now. 

“Semantics.” He scoffs, rubbing his face against her fur with a happy purr leaving him.

“Yuuri.”

He gazes up and snorts again, Viktor had a hurt puppy dog face and somehow, it really works for him. He even feels a tiny bit bad for him. Only a tiny.

“Viktor.” He calls back.

“No, it's just- Well, I bought you something.” The hesitancy and nervousness in his voice has Yuuri sitting back up and Makka takes off to further explore his apartment.

“What?” He asks faintly.

“I bought some… tickets to the new play in Peoria.” Color rises in Viktor’s face and it isn't hard for him to mimic it at all. “Do you want to go with me?”

“Peoria? As in Peoria, Illinois? As in ‘Will it play in Peoria’?” He asks, blinking his confusion away. Viktor was trying to get to know him. Was this a date?

“Yup.” For a man of many words, Viktor wasn't saying much. This really only served to emphasize his nervousness. He really thought Yuuri was going to turn him down.

“Well, okay. Am I driving or are you? I can drive since you bought the tickets.” He offers, trying to sweep away Viktor’s anxiety.

“Sounds fair, Yuuri. Well, I have some unpacking to do, just send Makka back over around dinner time.” The alpha smiled and hesitated near him before wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into his chest tightly.

He struggled for a breath of air and chuckled awkwardly, slowly patting at Viktor’s back. For a Soviet vet, he's really touchy feely.

“Thank you, Yuuri. You won't regret agreeing to this.” Came his hot breath in his ear and just as quickly as Viktor had came, he was gone. Leaving him as a puddle of mixed feelings on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any questions about anything regarding this fic, you're more than allowed to ask and I _will_ answer right away


End file.
